Poems for June 
The following verses are selections from the poetry of James E. Cox (Jim). To learn more about the author and his works, visit the sites under “Navigation.”
Since June is known as the month for marriages, I've chosen the following poems:
To The Bride
His mother says you must love him
despite of all that's wrong...
though you might sculpt a work of art
that could take eons long.
Eons long to try to mold
raw clay to pleasing form...
but if you do, she says to you,
"You'll far surpass the norm."
"Here is the material
with which you have to shape'
and though you'll often curse your chore,
you must, through all...still scrape."
"He'll never shut the toilet seat...
he cannot sense your plight.
He'll leave it up each time he pees...
and without fail at night."
"He'll never close a screen door...
don't ask that he should try...
because he thinks he'll pass back through
before the 'skeeters' fly."
"He'll want to watch the 'Niners'
when you would watch your 'soaps',
and should he grant you that one wish,
he drinks six beers and mopes."
"Men have the greatest egos...
that bend them to and fro,
and your kind words must succor him
before his 'Etna' blow."
"He'll never throw old shirts away
until they're way past prime.
And nothing ends up in the wash
despite how thick the grime."
"Housework is a 'woman's thing'
that he'll refuse to do.
He'll oil the car...seek fish afar...
and golf till chores are through."
"He will forget your birthday
and anniversary,
and if you ask him when you met,
he'll stutter endlessly."
"But through it all, do not give up;
the sculpting tends to end
when love and passion for you mate,
permits both souls to blend."
To The Groom
Since you'll soon be wearing rice
here's a look at paradise.
We've learned these things along the way...
many times with Hell to pay.
You'll always be one step from jail
because she can't resist a sale.
Regardless of the price you pay
no dress is worn a second day.
You'll find that all the shoes she needs
could outfit twenty centipedes.
Her toiletries will fill the room
and cost you more the King Tut's tomb.
You'll find her mom is never wrong.
You find mom's voice is always strong.
And through the years that selfsame mom
will cause more grief than Vietnam.
You'll find you'll never win a fight,
especially if it starts at night...
and sex won't come, however long,
till you admit that you are wrong.
Soon come the kids...least one or two.
They fill your life with colds and flu.
When young, you are their knowledge base...
thru teens, you're dumbest of your race.
Then as you age, to your surprise,
your cherished toy, just will not rise.
Now sex is but a memory
and late at night you watch TV.
And when these things have come to pass,
and your golden dreams have turned to brass,
you'll bond again with other males...
drink booze, grow fat, and share travails.
Also visit the “Sunset” site under “Navigation” for another of my poems from my “Sunset” chapbook…and visit again next month for completely new poems.